The first thing she saw was the gavel. It rested
on a mahogany desk, its head cracked from years
of use. She sat in a highbacked chair, her
fingers curled around the armrests, trying to
remember who she was. The room smelled of old
paper and candle wax. A man in a waistcoat stood
before her, his face lined with impatience.
She had no name, no past, no memory beyond the
moment she awoke here. Only that she was a
lawyer. The word echoed in her mind like a brand.
The man introduced himself as Lord Wrenford, a
barrister for the Crown. He spoke of a case: a
noblewoman accused of treason, her family’s name
tarnished by whispers of sedition. The charge
was flimsy, but the punishment was death. The
trial would begin at dawn.
She was to represent the accused.
No one explained how she knew this. No one asked
if she remembered. They only handed her a stack
of documents and told her to prepare.
The laws of this era were not like those she
might have known. Here, the Crown dictated
justice, and the accused had no voice unless
they could buy one. She had no funds, no
reputation, and no recollection of how she came
to be here. But the law was clear: every man,
woman, and child was subject to it.
She pored over the documents in the dim light of
the study. The noblewoman, Lady Eliza Hartwell,
had been seen speaking with French envoys. That
was all the evidence. No proof of intent, no
witness, no confession. Just a whisper turned
into a scandal.
The rules of this world were hard. One misstep,
and the accused would hang.
At dawn, the trial began. The courtroom was cold,
its stone walls echoing with the voices of
judges and jurors. Lord Wrenford sat at the
Crown’s table, his expression unreadable. The
accused stood alone, her hands clasped before
her.
The lawyer stepped forward. Her voice was steady,
though her mind was a storm. She spoke of law,
of due process, of the burden of proof. She
quoted statutes, challenged witnesses, and
pointed out the lack of evidence.
But the judge did not listen. The Crown’s will
was absolute.
As the verdict loomed, she felt something stir
in her mind—a memory not her own. A flash of a
different life, a different time. A man in a
suit, a courtroom filled with people who looked
like strangers, a case that had ended in victory.
She had been here before. Not as an amnesiac,
but as a force.
The final argument was hers. She stood, her
heart pounding, and said the words that would
change everything.
“The law is not a weapon to be wielded by the
powerful. It is a shield for the powerless. If
we allow this verdict, we surrender the very
foundation of justice.”
The room fell silent. The judge leaned back,
considering. The jury shifted uneasily.
Then, a decision. Acquittal.
Lady Eliza was free.
The lawyer collapsed into her chair, the weight
of the moment pressing down on her. She still
did not know who she was. But she knew what she
had done.
And somewhere, deep inside, she knew she would
do it again.
